


On Our Way (to Something More Uncertain)

by galactic_roses



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Selkie AU, Selkies, i have no idea how to tag this properly, mutual masturbation over distance, phantom sensation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactic_roses/pseuds/galactic_roses
Summary: Funtimes drabble for my Selkie AUWhen Jesper touches the strange pelt he took from the pier, it reminds him of his silk sheets, and one thing leads to another. Little does he know, Mogens can feel everything.
Relationships: Jesper Johanssen/Mogens
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	On Our Way (to Something More Uncertain)

**Author's Note:**

> I got the title from the song "Shake Me (Awake)" by The Dear Hunter
> 
> _If day becomes dusk  
>  Don't let that stop us  
> On our way to something more uncertain  
> Cuz when we arrive, oh honey honey  
> Wherever we're goin'  
> We may never want to leave  
> So just stay a while with me_
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, I totally didn't proofread at all lmao

Jesper takes a deep breath, sucking cold air into his lungs. He is tired, exhausted actually, from all his running around town during the nights, each time staying out just a bit later to deliver more toys. This particular night, he and Klaus have finished their deliveries a little early, and Jesper has managed to return to the post office while the moon is still in the sky.

He inhales again, and finally finds the strength to make it up the stairs to his bedroom. Even the hard futon feels soft when he falls onto it, he is so tired, yet as he wriggles out of his clothes and under the covers, his sleepy mind travels to the pelt he has hidden under the futon. The more he thinks about it, the more awake he feels, until he just _has_ to get up, swathed in blankets, and push the futon aside.

The silvery-brown pelt glows softly in the beam of moonlight that is shining through the hole in the roof. Jesper breathes a little easier when his fingers touch the silky smoothness, and he gathers it up in his hands before pulling the futon back into place and climbing onto it, clutching the pelt to his chest. Buried under the covers, he closes his eyes and runs his fingers over the soft, suede-like fur. It reminds him a little of the silk sheets he misses so much, and he can’t stop touching it, stroking his hands over its expanse. He presses his face reverently into it and breathes in. The musky, brine-and-smoke smell overwhelms the musty scent of his sheets, filling his nose with the smell of the sea.

Though exhausted, his body has begun to react to the scent and the feeling of the decadently silky pelt under his fingers. Jesper manages a wry chuckle, and continues to run his hands over the pelt, moving his fingers in slow circles and lines, spirals and stars. He bites his lip, enthralled by the slight shimmers of the fur he can see even in the darkness of the blanket cave.

Suddenly a bit too warm, Jesper throws off the blanket and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He drapes the skin around his bare shoulders, and almost whines aloud as the softness envelops him. Pressing his face into the pelt by his left shoulder, he breathes deeply and grips his growing erection in his right hand, still using his left to hold the pelt against him. His fingers are a bit chilly, making him flinch, but they warm quickly enough.

It’s been a while since he last pleasured himself, but he hasn’t forgotten how to make himself moan. He keeps his touch gentle at first, matching the speed of his right hand with the motions of his left. His hands have become a little rougher than they used to be, so he spits into his palm to help it glide over his skin the way he prefers, and strokes his erection with long, languid movements.

Jesper gasps as something abruptly hooks behind his navel, and his skin begins to tingle pleasantly where the pelt is touching him. His hand tightens reflexively, making him moan. Adjusting his grip to fit this new elation filling his stomach, he begins to pump his hand in earnest, earning himself a spurt of precum that leaks over his fingers, slicking his cock and adding to the slippery, obscene sounds his movements have begun to make. Another moan fights its way past his lips. Praying that it’s still too early for Mogens to decide to come calling, he releases his voice. His soft noises of pleasure fill the room.

The air thickens in his lungs, until he can hardly breathe, as if he’s sucking in water instead of cold, night air. Lights pop in front of his eyes. He buries his face in the pelt once more and his body tightens, the spring of muscles below his belly threatening imminent release. A final, desperate gasp floods his mouth and nose with the heady, suddenly overpowering scent of the pelt, and he can’t hold on any longer. His body jerks as the wave cresting inside him breaks, sending shudder after blissful shudder of ecstasy racing through his core. When Jesper lifts his head and opens his eyes again, for a moment he can see stars.

_In his dream, Mogens is lying out in in the sun, his round belly exposed to the blessed warmth. The ice against his back doesn’t even bother him, as he is too focused on basking in the relative heat of the summer sun. He lets his mind drift._

_When a pair of hands touch his skin, he jumps a little, his fat body bouncing on the ice. He opens his eyes and looks around, though no one is there. The ghostly hands skim down his belly, then back up again, leaving pleasant, tingly trails behind them. He begins to relax as the phantom hands continue to stroke over his skin, then he feels the distinct sensation of a face being pressed into his chest._

Mogens jumps slightly, startled out of his dream. He sits up a little in his chair and looks around. Though he is still completely alone in the tiny house that belonged to the ferryman before him, the sensation of hands touching him does not fade. A nose and mouth press against his chest, and a hot breath ghosts against his skin.

_Ah,_ he realizes, looking down at his sweater-covered front, _Isn’t it a bit early in the morning for this? Judging from the lack of light outside, I’d say it’s not even four in the morning yet._

Despite the early hour, the hands are persistent. Mogens relaxes, and begins to enjoy the touch. Though ghostly, the fingers are quite tangible to him, and he can never quite resist the touch of whoever has his pelt. He lets out a soft sigh.

The hands pause for a moment, then suddenly Mogens can a feel a shift, and a solid warmth rests against his chest. The face presses against the skin just below his jaw, breathing heavily, and a thrill of desire rolls through the ferryman’s core. He notices that one of the hands has abandoned his pelt, while the other, now touching his upper thigh, begins to take on more rhythmical movements.

Mogens grins and unbuckles his belt, pulling up his sweater so he can take his cock in one hand. The connection spikes as he begins to stroke his erection, and something hooks in his gut, making him gasp quietly, but he continues to grin. In his mind’s eye, he can see the postman, whining and moaning and blushing while he touches himself, draped in Mogens’ very own pelt. The ghostly hand clenches against his upper thigh, and his own pleasure builds, helped along by the feeling of hot breath on his neck. He tightens his grip and pumps his hand to the rhythmic movements of the phantom hand still clenching on his thigh. The movements speed up, and he follows, his breath beginning to come in short, staccato gasps. Liquid, molten gold pools in his belly, warming him more thoroughly than any liquor he’s ever drunk.

The hand on his thigh begins to tremble. Mogens groans as the face presses against his neck again, the desperate gasps of the postman nearly ruffling the hair by his ear, and his own hand stutters. One last, breathy gasp and the soft brush of lips against his neck pushes him over the edge, and climax shakes his body like a dry leaf in a summer storm.

Breathing like he’s just run a mile, Mogens stares down at the mess coating his fingers and lower belly. He can’t remember the last time he enjoyed doing that quite so much.

A minute later, as he’s wiping off his hand, he feels a pair of thin, ghostly arms wrap around his middle, and a face presses gently against his chest. The breathing against his chest goes from heavy and rapid to soft and slow.

“He knocks out quick,” the ferryman mutters to himself, but he can’t quite stifle the gentle smile that spreads across his mouth. Beginning to feel drowsy, he reclines in his chair, enjoying the knowledge that Jesper is sleeping soundly in the post office, a silvery-brown pelt wrapped tightly in his arms.


End file.
